


Allow me!

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, I wonder why it's racing?, Pulse Checking, Robin has to stay over, Strike has very thin walls, THIS FIC CONTAINS PUKING!, back to Denmark Street, caught red handed by Wardle!, don't turn the tap on when someone's in the shower!, fingers down throat puking, holding back hair, how is it all still sexy?, spiked drinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 06:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: Strike happens to be in a bar when Robin comes in with some friends, he notices her drink being spiked and steps in to make sure she is OK.HEADS UP HE MAKES HER PUKE UP! But, I will make it clear where the puky bit starts and ends if you are not the type of person who copes well with throwing up references (I'm a primary school teacher - very little phases me now!)There is a lot of pining and a couple of 'moments', but no actual naughtiness.There's a bit of canon Strike language.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Allow me!

He'd somehow managed to drag Robin's increasingly leaden body back along the uneven pavements to Denmark Street.  
The barman's hand had been speedy, but Cormoran had noticed, unseen from the other end of the bar, that something had been slipped into her drink before he handed over the white wine.

She had been meeting a couple of friends after her art group (a recent new interest which she had started as a method switching off from the stress of the job.)  
She'd asked Strike if he was interested in joining her; but he'd assured her that a few pints of Doom Bar and shouting angrily at his pathetic football team was therapy enough for him.  
However, she'd thrown into the conversation the fact that a group of them went to a bar after the class and he'd ridiculously gone along, hoping that he could convince her he was on the way back from some surveillance - he'd even added an appointment to the work diary as cover (twat!)

He'd noticed something a little shifty about the barman's behaviour right from the start, even before Robin and her friends had arrived. He was furtive; twitchy....just something about him that made Strike's palms itch.  
The fact that he was being overtly 'friendly' with most of the females who came to the bar was another issue....and he was definitely clocking their left hands to check for wedding rings, or rather the lack of them.  
Robin's ring free left hand would have signalled her status clearly; plus her group was made up of 2 other women and a lone male who didn't appear much of a threat physically.

Strike had decided he'd observe Robin's group from afar - partly because he wanted to enjoy her natural, unaffected beauty for a while, but partly because he had suddenly and inexplicably come over rather shy! (fucking twat!)  
His semi hidden position however had not worked in has favour as he tried to reach her before she could drink any of her wine.  
He watched, unable to do anything as she raised her glass for the others to 'clink' a cheers with her then glugged down a hefty swig - he cursed himself for instilling in her an increased pace of drinking linked to his own mammoth mouthfuls.

A busy London bar on a Friday evening combined with his leg made his attempts to reach her painfully slow and laboured.  
He saw her take at least 3 further mouthfuls from the glass, and could also see, when he reached her that her eyes were already slightly fuzzy and dilated oddly.  
"Hi, I'm Robin's work colleague and I'm afraid I have a rather important job that we need to deal with. I'll take that," he took the partially filled glass from her grip and tipped the remnants onto the carpeted floor, tucking the glass into one of his ample pockets and slipping his arm firmly around Robin's waist as she began to garble a little as he manoeuvred her to the door.  
"Corm'rn? What're you doin' here? I feel a bit drunk! C'n you take me for fresh air?"

He turned briefly to the confused looking art group, "I wouldn't have another in here if I were you. I'll ask her to ring you once she's a bit less.....busy!"  
He had a couple of pictures on his phone of the barman, he had the glass which would have enough of the residue to test for whatever the hell he'd slipped in there; he could wait.  
Right now his priority was Robin.

The first strides in the fresh air seemed to help with Robin's state and she was able to ask, slightly slurred, "Why're you here? And....what job have we got? Is it that one that you put in the diary? Oh God, I feel weird!"  
Strike was aware of his arm still supporting Robin's rather gloriously curved body, and he gripped her more firmly as she slumped against him, one of her ankles twisting slightly and making her lurch to the side, in the direction of the road.  
"Come on, I need to get you home....and possibly empty your stomach," he stated, his eyes glancing over Robin's face and noting her unfocussed gaze and slightly laboured breathing.

He knew that if he could get what she'd consumed out of her system quickly there was every chance she'd be fine, albeit with the hangover of the century tomorrow; and he knew a little bit about monitoring vital signs....and Nick was at the end of a phone should it look like he needed further help.

By the time they reached the outer door Robin was almost comatose in Strike's arms. She was rambling all manner of strange information:  
"Gottanotgiveintotemptation. Stay profesh'l. Don't stareat'imwhenhe's smoking. Standupstraight. Havetodrawhishandsagain. Needbettersketchin'pencils. It'snottimeforwork."

Cormoran managed to push her against the door frame with his leg whilst he located his keys beneath his cigarettes in his cavernous pocket.  
"It's OK Robin, it's not time for work, but I'm taking you inside. I need to get you upstairs."  
Once they were through the first door and into the small lobby he realised the full extent of his task and swore softly.  
Robin 's head was lolling on her shoulders and her lips were moving with no sounds being emitted.  
Unceremoniously he hoisted her into a fireman's lift across his shoulder and, with her head and arms dangling down his back, began to haul them both up the stairs, pulling on the bannister rails for balance.

"Just hang on a bit, Robin. Nearly there and I'll make you feel a bit better," he panted as they passed the office and he continued up to his small flat.  
Wrestling with the key again he didn't drop Robin from his shoulder until he'd got them inside.  
He took her across to his small kitchen sink, knowing that there was barely room for himself inside his tiny shower room, let alone both of them!

After setting her down he hastily tugged off her jacket and scarf, and discarded them with his own coat in a messy jumble on the table.  
"This might not be the most romantic thing in the world, but you'll thank me for it," he stated before roughly dragging her hair back in a handful, positioning her face over the sink

*******GLOSS OVER IF YOU CAN'T DEAL WITH THROWING UP************

and sticking his fingers down her throat.  
He grimaced slightly as she vomited up liquid and resisted the temptation to rub her back as his free hand had just been thrust down her gullet.  
Instead he turned on the tap and rinsed his fingers, allowing the water to wash away her stomach contents.  
Beside him Robin gave an involuntary twitch and retched again, bringing up more liquid.

************BACK TO THE STORY****************

"That's it, good girl," he found himself reassuring her, and saw her previously unresponsive hands clutch at the stainless steel edge of the sink for balance.

Still using his leg propped against her buttocks to help her stay upright he reached up and grabbed a mug which he ducked under the still running torrent from the tap.  
"Drink it, and then you need to puke it out again!" he stated as he heard Robin's gasp of pleasure over the cold liquid running down her raw throat.  
She coughed and sniffed inelegantly, but perfectly understandably in the circumstances, "Why? I've already b'n sick!"  
Strike calmly filled the mug again, "Well, you threw up most of it up, but the more we can actually get out of your system the better, and even a few traces more will help. So drink, and then puke please!" he stated, matter of factly.  
Robin groaned and slumped a little as she glugged down more water then passed him back the mug.  
She reached back and replaced the hand holding her hair back with her own and took a deep breath to psych herself up 

****************DING-DING ROUND TWO OF VOMIT FEST**************

before placing her slender fingers into her mouth and trying to make herself gag.  
"I 'harn't goo it!" she mumbled, wIth her hand still in place.  
Strike smiled, in spite of the situation, and motioned for her to remove her fingers, "Allow me!" and without further ceremony he stuck his fingers back down her throat and instantly triggered a retching stream of watery vomit.  
After a couple more involuntary spasms she had hurled up the water and Strike could see from her eyes that she was significantly less affected by whatever had been slipped into her drink, Rohypnol being his best guess.

**************ALL DONE. NO MORE PUKE ***************************

"Feeling better?" he asked as he moved his leg and washed his hands thoroughly, drying them on a couple of pieces of kitchen roll.

Robin puffed out her cheeks and swallowed a further retch, "Can I drink again or will you make me puke it up?" she asked cautiously.  
He smiled down at her, "You can have a drink now. D'you want a tea?"  
She nodded gratefully and sipped water from the mug as he flicked on the kettle.

Pushing herself carefully from the sink she made her way across to one of the functional kitchen chairs and sat gingerly down, providing Strike with the space he required to arrange teabags, mugs and milk.

"I didn't drink that much did I?" she asked.  
He shook his head, "No, even you're not that much of a lightweight!" he grinned. "The barman in that place slipped something in your wine!"

"Bloody hell!" she shrieked, "Hang on......how do you know?"

He decided to stick to his rather ridiculous cover story, "I popped in there for a drink after checking out a possible lead....it was in the diary.....the barman looked shifty and I clocked him, just couldn't get across to you in time before you drank half the glass. By the way, you should be congratulated for your increased consumption rate!"  
Robin sniggered back at his crinkle-eyed grin, "It's too much time keeping pace with you!" she dragged a hand through her dishevelled hair and sniffed again. "If he's doing that though shouldn't we do something about him?"

Strike nodded and poured water into the mugs, "Don't worry, he won't be going anywhere; he didn't suspect I knew what he was doing. But I've got a couple of decent images on my phone of him, and I've got your glass," he moved over and rummaged in his coat to retrieve it, slipping it into a plastic food bag as a make-do evidence bag.

Robin tweaked her lips into a fractional smile as she settled back in the chair, resting her head against the slightly tatty wallpaper.  
Her eyes felt heavy suddenly.  
"Try not to go to sleep," Strike instructed kindly, "Drink this."  
He placed the mug down beside her and rested his own on the table too before moving around beside her and sliding his fingers across her left hand, his thumb massaging her wrist in a rather pleasurable manner, eliciting a soft hum from her chest.

Robin was aware of their proximity; of the dimed lighting in Strike's flat; of his masculine aroma of tobacco, sweat and shower gel.  
"Are you holding my hand?" she asked feeling slightly woozy and warm all of a sudden.  
She felt the short exhalation of his hot breath against her neck and cheek, but his hand remained clasping hers, "I'm checking your pulse!" he stated, "And it seems fine, maybe a little fast, but it'll do! Drink your tea."

Strike took his own mug across to his large armchair and sat himself down with a sigh, propping his prosthetic up on an upturned plastic box which served as a make shift footstool.

They drank tea in one of their comfortable silences before Robin finally spoke.  
"I should get off. I'll call an UBer," she stated, but stopped her attempt to stand up based on Strike's reaction.  
"Erm, you'll do no such thing!" he stated firmly.  
Robin inhaled sharply; what was it about him when he was slightly tyrannical and direct that made her groin turn to heated mush?  
Maybe it was because it was such a contrast to the Cormoran that she knew now - he was one of the softest, most caring and thoughtful people she knew.

"I know you seem OK now, but I've not really got a clue what'll happen after you drink that tea....it might trigger remnants of it in your system and I can't be responsible for sending you back home like that," he explained calmly.

She was ridiculously touched by his consideration for her safety.  
"Well, check my pulse again....I bet it's fine," she suggested and saw him swallow and press his lips together before he set aside his mug and pushed himself upright using the arms of the chair.

He stood beside her and reached down for her left hand again, slightly mesmerized by how soft, smooth and small it felt in his grip.  
He found the beating pulse in her wrist and glanced at his watch, trying to avoid staring down into her grey eyes, which looked blissfully normal again.  
Robin glanced up once and turned her focus away; he was just too close and too sexy!  
She looked instead at his hand, imagining it caressing her instead of practically and efficiently checking her vital signs.  
She stifled a slight murmur as she realised her fingertips were within stroking distance of his flies due to his lifting and holding her wrist and blinked away all manner of highly inappropriate thoughts.

Strike pursed his lips and released her hand, "It's still pretty irregular and fast," he stated, Robin rolled her eyes -[ I wonder why the fuck that could be?!]

"I'd feel a lot better if you stayed here. You take in there and I'll be fine here," he said indicating his bedroom and the armchair respectively.

Robin however shook her head, "No" Cormoran, I couldn't. You've done enough to help me this evening, I can't ask you to sleep in a chair!"

"You're not asking me to...I'm offering, in fact I'm telling you actually. I know I'm not often a bossy boss, but on this occasion I'm gonna be insistent. So just accept it and get in there while I get sorted out here....and take some more water in to drink," he stated in a calm and no nonsense manner that was both ridiculously reassuring and gloriously sexy at the same time.

Robin merely nodded and took her mug across to the sink to refill with fresh water before going through to Strike's bedroom.  
It seemed slightly odd to sleep in sheets that he'd clearly already used, but in the circumstances it actually felt like a perfectly logical thing to do.  
She eased off her heeled boots and glanced down at her clothing choices - jeans and a baggy tunic - if she slept in them she'd no doubt be all sweaty and hideous in the morning....although she wasn't sure that was as much of an issue given the fact that Strike had stuck his fingers down her throat this evening already!

She heard a creak from the other room, and then a soft cough, Strike was filling the doorway, "Can I just grab a few....." he opened a drawer and scooped up what looked like sweatpants and a t shirt and picked up a tube of pain relief cream from the top of a cabinet.  
"You can help yourself to a t shirt to sleep in if you like," he left a different drawer slightly ajar by way of invitation.  
She nodded as he left, pulling the door too, but not completely closed.

Robin took the first, neatly folded t shirt from the pile and dragged her jeans off and her tunic over her head, pulling the garment on and squirming out of her bra beneath it in case he came in again.  
She heard the sound of the extractor fan clicking off and knew that meant Strike would have finished in the loo.  
Robin cautiously opened the door and saw Strike looking crumpled and deliciously soft in his flannel pj trousers and marl grey top.  
His prosthetic was propped up beside the chair.

“I’m just gonna go the loo,” she explained and registered his fractional eyebrow twitch.  
She was suddenly aware of the fact that quite a lot of her legs were on display, and she was only wearing her knickers beneath the large t shirt.

Strike was grateful when she’d closed the door to his tiny shower room as it allowed him the opportunity of drawing breath.  
The sight of Robin’s breasts was usually something he steadfastly ignored…..but their clearly unsupported state beneath the soft fabric of his cream coloured Steve McQueen homage t shirt was having rather an alarming effect on him; although he tried his best to focus on the fact that he’d recently helped her to throw up in his sink a couple of times to keep it at bay!  
He realised that he would shortly get the return trip, and rear view, and reached for the sleeping bag tucked behind the chair in order to make himself….let’s say ‘comfortable’!

In the tiny space, Robin pee’d and washed her hands. She looked at her appearance in the slightly steamy mirror and groaned.  
The makeup she had tastefully applied was still on her face, but no longer in any of it’s intended locations!  
Using some of the toilet paper she scrubbed at her eyes, and used a little of Strike’s E45 cream that she knew he used on his partial leg, as an emergency make up remover for her cheeks and lips.  
She hummed in her chest at the sight of his toothbrush sticking out of his original I heart Cornwall mug; the one with the broken handle; and twisted the cap off the bottle of mouthwash.  
She flushed the loo and flicked off the light before she ventured out, somehow feeling that a dark backdrop would be more flattering….ie easier to blend into.

Strike tried to portray an image of restrained nonchalance as he heard the door’s familiar creak.  
Christ, she looked gorgeous!

“You feel OK? No blurred vision? Headache?” he asked casually, placing the folded copy of the newspaper aside.

Robin wrinkled her nose a little and stood, one of her bare feet on top of the other, “I just feel exhausted. I’m really glad you were at the bar….thank you Cormoran,” she pouted.

“Just come over here a second will you,” Strike beckoned with his hand and Robin found herself padding softly across to him.  
He noticed as she approached that her toenails were painted a deep crimson shade which made him smile.

Robin trapped her lower lip between her teeth as Strike sat up in the chair and reached out for her hand.  
There was another very definite bob of his Adam’s Apple as their skin connected; he could still feel a little moisture from her having washed her hands; but he grazed his fingers along her lower arm lightly before settling at her wrist.

“Just do this once more, see if it’s come down a bit,” he looked up through those hooded, green eyes at her briefly before turning his attention to his watch, noting the slightly goose-pimpled but otherwise alabaster like flesh of her thighs almost in his immediate eyeline.  
He was grateful that she wasn’t attempting to measure his own heart rate as at that particular moment it was significantly affected by her proximity, the sight of the almost edible curve of her breasts and semi erect nipples, and the realisation that he could smell her…..in the best and most sensual way.

Releasing her hand again he nodded and glanced up to meet her storm-cloud grey eyes,  
“It’s about the same….so, that’s presumably OK. You feel alright? Not faint or dizzy, or blurred vision?” he asked.

Robin cleared her throat, could she realistically tell him that she was most definitely feeling dizzy, but that it was due to the closeness of his ridiculous masculinity and the knowledge that she was about to slip between sheets that had cossetted his body and would carry that amazing scent into her nostrils as she slid into her slumbers?

In the end she decided on a more appropriate, “I feel OK, goodnight.”

“Goodnight Robin. I’ll check on you a couple of times, so….” His sentence drifted and she was grateful that he was warning her that it was possible she would wake in the dark with a male presence looming over her, but without actually stating it awkwardly.  
She nodded, “I’ll leave the door open a bit.”

The rear view of Robin’s figure in the dim light, with his t shirt barely covering her glorious arse was making him somewhat uncomfortable beneath the draped sleeping bag, but thankfully his flat was small, and with just a few steps she was safely behind the door….out of sight but definitely not out of mind!  
____  
Strike hopped across and checked on Robin once in the early hours.  
She looked amazingly beautiful with her amber coloured hair spread across his pillows, her body limp and sleeping deeply as he checked her pulse, which appeared finally to be beating at a regular rate.  
He breathed deeply before resting her wrist back beside her on the mattress; but couldn’t stop his fingers sliding to move one of the strands of amber-gold off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.  
All manner of thoughts were swirling in his lust addled brain; but the main one he focussed on was that she was OK; he’d been there for her and made sure she was safe….maybe that was the only role in her life he could hope for….and if so, he’d make sure he did it the best he could.

“Sleep tight Ellacott,” he murmured before making his way back to the armchair and his makeshift bed.  
\-------  
Robin woke up with a headache of Biblical proportions, and rolled over, burying her face into the unfamiliar pillows which somehow had a comforting aura to them.  
She heard a creak of floorboards, and dimly recalled that she was in Strike’s bed….and that he’d slept on the armchair.  
Noises implied that Strike was in the loo, and she sniggered slightly at the ‘morning man’ sounds which were audible through the paper thin walls.  
The noise from the shower informed her that she had a little time, so she ventured out into the living space and busied herself with tea making duties. 

She located their mugs from the night before and rinsed them at the sink before filling the kettle and hearing a muffled , “FUuuck!” from the bathroom….she giggled and winced, wondering which part of his anatomy had been singed due to the changed cold water pressure.  
Leaving a steaming mug of creosote-like tea on the small table in the living room she took her own through to the bedroom and hitched herself partially back under the covers as she sipped, glancing around Strike’s space, noticing little features; like the photo of him with Ilsa and Nick obviously from years back; the fact that the place was immaculately clean; the bottle of cologne (so THAT was his preferred scent!) and the stack of varied books on the cabinet and floor beside the bed, including a copy of Ibsen plays, a modern paperback thriller and a well worn copy of The Birds and other plays by Aristophanes.  
He was a fucking enigma!

She shuffled over and removed the cap from the after shave bottle, and inhaled the undiluted aroma that was such a part of Cormoran.  
It was addictive….and she was starting to think that maybe she liked being addicted!

Pulling on her jeans from the evening before she reluctantly removed Strike’s oversized t shirt and folded it neatly before leaving it on the bed which she’d made up. She got into her bra and baggy top, which still had the scent of her evening perfume on it; she assumed Strike would agree to letting her nip home to shower and change.  
Her make-up free face would have to do, as would her finger styles hair (dragging it into a loose and purposefully messy ponytail was a handy ability!). 

The creaking noises through in the other room had clearly altered to a more regular gait, meaning that Strike had put on his prosthesis, so she cautiously pulled open the door and started to go through, stifling a guttural whimper.

He had indeed put his limb back on as well as his checked pj bottoms, but his chest was bare with the hair covering it still darkened and damp from his shower.

She couldn’t help but stare – when had he buffed up quite so much?  
She knew the whole vegetarian bacon, weight loss thing had worked, because there was definitely less of a paunch over his waistband; but she hadn’t realised his weekly swimming sessions had improved his overall muscle tone quite so alarmingly.

“Sorry…..I need to grab a few clothes from in there,” he indicated his bedroom.

“I’m all done, you can do whatever…..and…..thanks again,” she stated. “Erm…have you got any paracetamol?”

He smirked, “Have I ever?! There’s a bottle of them on the counter over there….they’re strong ones.”  
“Sounds perfect!” she replied trying desperately not to stare at his broad back as they swapped positions in the compact space.

She made more tea while she waited and checked her phone; she also located her lipbalm and hand lotion from her evening handbag.  
“I’ve messaged Wardle by the way….about our friend the barman…..said he’d swing by the office this morning, apparently it might solve a few reports from other women,” he shouted through to Robin.

Strike didn’t take long to dress; he grabbed underwear and a fresh pair of his almost work uniform trousers, meaning he had to dis and then re attach his leg to get on. And selected one of his work shirts before adding his belt and raking his hands through his almost dry hair.

“So does that mean some women weren’t as lucky as me? Has he……?” she petered out her voice.

“NO! apparently not….it’s a weird one, he said there have been cases of women going out for a drink, in all cases they’d only had one or maybe 2 drinks. Then they report feeling very drunk, and they got a lift home and when they woke up they were wearing black nail varnish. None of them have been sexually interfered with, or injured and most seemed reluctant to make reports because they thought it was a waste of police time….but you know Wardle; he takes an interest in weird cases!” Cormoran explained as he rolled his shirt sleeves and glugged down his second brew.

“Wow! Well, hopefully you’ve got enough information to get the right guy and make sure nothing worse happens…..it’s a bit creepy though!” she shuddered as she made her way through the front door and out onto the small landing before he followed her down the stairs.

“Do you want to get off and get yourself sorted….maybe have a shower without fear of getting your backside burned!” he smirked, impishly as they started their way down the stairs to the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I realised when I heard you swear!” she giggled.

“You heard that?”

“I heard you pissing too, and that lovely morning smokers cough…..so I reckon it makes us about even given that you dealt rather unceremoniously with me vomiting last night!”

They were still passing quips back and forth in an easy, companiable manner when they became aware of a familiar dark head coming up the stairs, a raised brow expression on his face.

“Morning!” Wardle’s distinctive clipped accent spoke volumes – [‘OK, what have I interrupted given that the pair of you are coming down from that flat and Robin is clearly wearing non-work clothes?’]

Strike’s flat response of, “Wardle,” was spoken in an equally expressive tone – [‘Shut the fuck up and don’t mention anything or I might dot you one!’]

“Right….erm, given that he’s got everything on this guy, and all I have is a mammoth headache and a need for food, I’m going to get off. I’ll see you a bit later…and, thanks,” Robin stated a feint blush to her cheeks as she worked out what this could possibly look like to Wardle's eyes.

“No problem Robin. Take your time,” he unlocked the office and disappeared inside with Wardle. “Right…..say nothing! I’m a good friend and I needed to make sure she didn’t die from whatever that dickhead slipped in her drink!” he stated once they were alone.

Wardle pursed his mouth, “Right….and of course taking her to hospital would have been far too obvious!” he twinkled.

Strike couldn’t really argue with his logic!

“Fuck off!” he hissed, but couldn’t prevent the twitch to his uneven lips facing away from Wardle’s scrutiny…anyway, he had a t shirt that she’d worn folded neatly on his bed…..it was easily worth the light hearted ribbing!


End file.
